The Collector
by Queen of Crystallopia
Summary: Children have been going missing for months. Their connection? Every single one of them was a prodigy, endowed with exceptional qualities. The madman behind it calls himself the Collector, and he's after the crown jewel of his collection, a young aerialist named Richard Grayson. Inspired by the characters of Black Friar's Volatile universe
1. Chapter 1

**Hey folks! It's me again. So this is another story based off of the Volatile universe created by Black Friar, and follows my two shot Reckless. You don't have to read that one for this to make sense, but it provides a little teensy bit of background as to why Robin's in the condition he is. This idea would just not leave me alone, and I finally started writing it out. It's unedited, as I have no beta, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. As always, reviews and comments are always appreciated!**

Getting the stomach flu while having bruised ribs sucked, Dick had decided. Getting kidnapped while suffering from the stomach flu while having bruised ribs, however, was hell.

Dick clenched his eyes shut as another wave of nausea struck him. His fevered body shivered violently as he fought back the urge to vomit. The two goons standing on either side of him either didn't notice his struggle, or just didn't care. Dick was betting on the latter. He took deep, shaky breaths as he clung to the cold metal of his chair. Thankfully, they hadn't tied him up, so if he did end up hurling, which his ribs were begging him not to, he could at least lean forward and do so on the floor instead of down his chest.

The wave of nausea passed, and Dick swallowed heavily. He stared at the dusty carpet beneath his feet, noting the intricate swirls the yellow gold made against the crimson. The room he was being kept in was strange, and he struggled to place it. Instead of the usual warehouse, basement, or kitchen he was usually subjected to in these kidnappings, this place was actually sort of…nice.

Well, relatively speaking, of course. If he had to guess, he was in some sort of old dressing room. The mirrors lining the walls were cracked and warped, cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust covered every inch of the room. The goons guarding him hadn't spoken to him since he woke up, and neither had he for once. Dick was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would puke, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Dick had been awake for maybe half an hour now, and the mastermind of this operation had yet to show his or her face. He tried to remember the circumstances of his kidnapping, but the last thing he honestly remembered was throwing up in the waste basket by his bed and passing out from the pain in his ribs. Then, the next thing he knew, he had woken up here, leaving him to assume that he had been kidnapped. Again.

That wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that the kidnappers had taken him straight out of the manor. Getting past the security measures that Brue had set up was no easy feat. Sure, Bruce and Jason had been out on patrol, leaving just Dick and Alfred at the manor, but it still would have been extremely difficult to break in.

Worry for the old butler made his temperamental stomach clench, and he fought to control his breathing.

The door opened.

Dick jerked his head up as a man walked out of the shadows and into the dim light. His stomach dropped below his feet as the blood drained from his face.

It was the Collector.

The scarred face was impossible not to recognize. After all, he, Jason, and Bruce had been trying to hunt him down for weeks.

One month ago, a girl named Elyssa Morgan had been found on the side of the road, broken and hysterical. She was a prodigy, an accomplished dancer and prima ballerina in an elite ballet company by the age of fourteen. Elyssa had vanished after one of her performances in Gotham, and had been missing for a week and a half before she was found.

Robin had gone to the hospital where she was being treated to find out what happened to her, and the interview had shaken him. Elyssa's eyes had been dull and lifeless as she described waking in a strange place where a man with a crooked, vivid scar running down the left side of his face had forced her to dance. He had done something to her, and she had lost complete control of her own body.

Hour after hour, day after day, he had made her dance for him. She was given no food, little water, and even less sleep. It didn't matter that her body was shutting down, or that her feet where bleeding and broken. Still, she had danced.

The details of her escape were fuzzy to her, and Dick hadn't been able to figure out how she had done it. But she remembered crawling past the trophy room. It was only when she spoke about that place that fear had entered her eyes. A room filled with bodies, all young, all mangled and horrible.

The doctors said she would never walk again.

Batman had immediately thrown himself into the case with a determination and anger that almost frightened Dick. Jason too, had become more grim and sleep deprived than usual.

Details quickly turned up while they examined all the missing kids and teenagers over the past six months. Every one of them had been taken from Gotham. Every one of them had been a prodigy of some kind. A master pianist, an opera singer, a painter whose skill rivaled that of Monet, a blind girl who could dance while performing any musical piece on the violin; the list seemed endless.

It was only a day ago that Batman seemed to find a breakthrough, though he wouldn't reveal much to Dick other than that the man called himself the Collector, and that he used to be one of the wealthiest people in the world.

"Richard Grayson," the Collector purred his name with such reverence and familiarity that Dick flinched. "It's an honor to meet you at last."

"I wish I could say the same," Dick replied, his eyes narrowing.

The Collector might have been handsome, once. He held himself like the elite people of Gotham did at the parties Dick was forced to attend. But the ugly, jagged scar that marred his face turned chiseled qualities into menacing ones. His thin, tall frame and stringy yellow hair made Dick think of a scarecrow.

The Collector drew up a chair and sat in front of him, his odd colored eyes boring into Dick's own with hungry intensity. Dick squirmed uncomfortably as the man's gaze seemed to devour every inch of him.  
"It is most unfortunate, Mr. Grayson, that I find you so injured and indisposed with illness," the Collector frowned, as if Dick had done so on purpose. "You will not last as long as the others, I'm afraid. Still, I know I will find our time together to be quite…exquisite."

Another wave of nausea hit, but Dick couldn't tell if it was from the flu, or the man's words. He didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid. There was something terribly wrong with the Collector; he exuded madness in a way that not many people did.

Dick forced himself to swallow. "What are you talking about?" he asked, stalling. Bruce and Jason had to be looking for him already. He would be found and saved, he just had to keep the Collector talking as long as he could.

"You know I saw the Flying Graysons once?" the Collector ignored his question.

Dick paled and cold seeped into his veins.

"They were magnificent," the Collector closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, as if savoring the memory. "The way they performed their aerial feats was nothing short of magnificent. But their boy, mmm, that child…he didn't just jump into the air and do tricks. No…that boy could fly. It was one of the greatest things I have ever seen. Sadly, Mary and John Grayson fell to their deaths, and their son, their impossibly talented son, was adopted by a billionaire, never to perform again."

Dick was shaking violently, feeling more sick and more afraid than he'd felt in a long time.

"Until today," the Collector opened his eyes and smiled. "Oh, my dear Richard. I cannot tell you how… _thrilled_ I am, to get to watch you again. The anticipation has been murderous, as I've wanted to add you to my collection for quite some time. You are my crown jewel."

"You're _sick_ ," the words spilled from his mouth. "You're a monster."

The Collector's smile faded. "The others said the same, too, at first. But then they didn't say anything ever again."

Dick shrunk back in his chair. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to… _perform_ for you. Look at me! I'm not who I was. I don't do that anymore. And even if I was still part of the circus, I would be in no shape to perform."

"That won't matter. You see, thanks to a friend of mine, I have the means to make all of my dreams come true," the Collector's eyes gleamed with excitement and madness. He held up something small and silver. "It doesn't matter if your mind doesn't remember, Richard, your body will. And your body, sick and injured as it might be, will have no choice but to do as I command."

The situation crashed down on him in a violent, churning, icy wave. Dick struggled to keep his breathing even as the Collector leaned forward and brushed his hair away from his sweat covered forehead. "Richard, you are going to fly for me."

Dick vomited all over the Collector's shoes.

The Collector rose, seemingly without notice as Dick continued heaving violently. "Prepare him," he ordered, placing something in the guard's hands.

Dick panted, sweat rolling off his skin as he stared at the mess covered carpet in horror. The Collector would control him, just like the others, and make him perform until it killed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow. The response to this story so far has been incredible. Your awesome reviews are what inspire me to keep writing, so thank you so much! Just a warning, this story is going to get even darker, and I am changing the rating to M for the dark themes, violence, and of course, Jason's language.**

* * *

The Collector, AKA Silas Hawthorne, age thirty eight, was supposed to be dead. Silas was the sole inheritor of a vast fortune after his parents had been violently murdered when he was nine. He spent much of his fortune on the rarest of artifacts, and when that was gone, he turned to illegal means of acquiring what became his obsession. It eventually became his undoing, when experienced thieves broke into his manor house and took everything after mutilating his face and leaving him to burn to death in his own home. The body the police had found was burned beyond recognition, and it was assumed that his greed and madness had killed him.

Batman knew better.

There had been rumors on the streets for quite some time, about a new player who called himself the Collector, but until this point, Batman had known nothing about him. The string of missing young prodigies, ages ranging from eleven to sixteen, along with the Morgan girl's testimony, could only be the work of such a man, and the evidence of his identity pointed straight at Silas Hawthorne.

After hearing Elyssa Morgan's terrifying account, Bruce had wanted Dick as far away from the case as possible. With that many missing children, both Bruce and Jason knew what they would find once they caught up to the Collector. As their luck would have it, Dick came down with the flu, and combined with the misery of nursing bruised ribs from his stunt at the Gotham Bridge, it was the perfect excuse to keep him uninformed.

Days went by as they waited for the Collector to show himself, to strike again, since his latest acquirement had escaped her fate. To their frustration, he stayed hidden.

The big break in the case came when Elyssa Morgan suddenly recalled that she had heard the sounds of the ocean during her captivity, and remembered seeing a flashing light in the distance while she had escaped. At last, they had a clue, and it didn't take Batman long to discover a large manor on the outskirts of Gotham near the lighthouse, that had been purchased just six months ago, exactly when the kidnappings had started.

Jason had had a bad feeling leaving Dick so ill and in pain to go on patrol, but Batman had discovered the possible living location of the Collector. And there was no way that Jason wasn't going to help put that psychopath away for good.

The mansion that stood before them seemed ominous and eerie. Jason wasn't sure if it was because of the gothic designs, or the knowledge of what they would most likely find inside that made it so. There were no lights lit, no one in sight. Batman and the Red Hood entered the manor.

They communicated without words, slipping into the shadows stealthily. Jason went upstairs, while Batman took the ground floor. Jason adjusted his grip on his gun as he slipped down a darkened hallway, checking each room briefly as he passed them. An unholy smell, foul and terrible, filled his nose as he got closer to the door at the end of the hall. He fought to keep his dinner down as he wished fervently that his helmet did more, but nothing could block the stench of death.

His face was grim as he approached the door, gun raised. Jason thought he knew what was behind this door as he recalled the words of a broken young girl who had barely escaped a nightmare. Steeling himself, and suddenly glad that his young partner wasn't with them, he opened the door.

Jason's stomach lurched violently, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to get himself under control.

It was the trophy room.

Propped up in glass cases, as if they were nothing more than dolls, were the broken bodies of the missing teenagers.

"Fuck," Jason breathed out shakily as horror swept through him. He'd seen horrible things in his life, but nothing, nothing like this. Next to each case were framed photos and newspaper clippings detailing each child's life, talent, and success. All of these children, so young, so gifted, with so much potential to have incredible, influential lives, were gone; tortured and murdered by one of the sickest psychopaths Jason had ever encountered.

There was a whisper of movement behind him. Jason whirled, gun raised, stomach clenched. Batman stood in the doorway, his narrowed gaze taking in the absolute horror of the room. Jason breathed out heavily, lowering his weapon. "Anything?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"The Collector isn't here," Batman said after a long moment, his own voice tense.

"Damn," Jason swore, trying to squash down the anger and disappointment. He moved further into the room, unable to keep still as he imagined the most violent ways he knew to kill a man. His brow furrowed as he noticed a doorway covered by a thick, heavy curtain.

Dread curled inside of him as he reached for the curtain, not knowing what he was about to find, but suddenly terrified.

Jason jerked the curtain aside.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His brain was unable to make sense of what he was seeing, and it felt as if he was falling, though he knew he was still standing in the Collector's trophy room.

A large, vibrant poster, somewhat faded, was framed in the center of the wall. Jason knew it well. The same poster hung in Dick's room in a similar frame, which was why he couldn't even begin to understand what it was doing here of all places. He vaguely registered that his body had begun to shake as he took in the array of photos, clippings, and brochures on the wall before him. On the _shrine_ before him.

Dick's face smiled back at him. Pictures of his brother plastered the wall, some recent, some going all the way back to when he was a little boy in the circus. Newspapers advertising the Flying Graysons and their incredible feats sat below the brochure for Haly's Circus, which was right next to an article about Mary and John Grayson's deaths.

Ice shot through him, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. _"Fuck_ ," the curse came out first in a whisper, then in a horrified shout. "Fuck!"

He was panicking, but that word didn't even begin to cover the all-encompassing terror that he was feeling.

The next victim to be added to the collection was Dick.

"Jason!" strong hands seized him and turned him away from the nightmarish shrine. Jason got the feeling that Batman had been shouting his name for quite some time.

A loud beep began to suddenly emit from both of their belts, and they looked down in unison to see a small red light flashing rapidly.

"The manor," Jason breathed, his eyes widening.

But Batman had already turned away from him and was running full force out of the room. Jason tore after him.

"Alfred!" Batman's hand was against his cowl, radioing first the cave, then, receiving no answer, ringing the manor. "Alfred, come in!"

There was no response.

* * *

They were too late. The front door of the manor was wide open, the furniture in disarray. Alfred lay in a crumpled heap next to the fireplace, a poker still in his hand.

"Alfred!" Bruce rushed to the old man's side, carefully feeling for a pulse and checking for injuries. His pulse was steady, and he seemed unharmed. Bruce quickly pulled a vial of smelling salts from his belt and held it in front of the butler's face.

Alfred's brow furrowed, his face twitched, and he began to cough as his eyes fluttered open. His face twisted in confusion, then Alfred's eyes were widening in alarm, and his hand gripped Bruce's gauntlet. "Sir! Master Dick-"

"He's gone," Jason said grimly as he came down the stairs from checking Dick's room. His hands curled tightly into fists.

Alfred paled further as Bruce helped him sit up on his own. "My God, that monster took him."

"What happened?" Bruce demanded, unable to disguise the fear in his voice.

"I don't know how they got past the defenses, sir. The sensors didn't even pick them up!" Alfred put a hand to his head miserably. "The next thing I knew, they were barreling down the door. I managed to hit one of them, but then both of them came at me with chloroform. I'm so sorry, sir!"

"It isn't your fault, Alfred," Bruce said grimly.

"What are we waiting for?" Jason demanded. "That mad man has Dick! We need to go after them, now! Before-"

He trailed off, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried and failed not to imagine the fate that awaited his kid brother.

"He won't take him back to his mansion," Bruce mused darkly. "The Collector must be taking his victims somewhere they can...perform for him."

"And with Dick being an acrobat..." Jason's mind thought rapidly through the possibilities. "The old circus grounds?"

Bruce shook his head. "Too obvious. He'd probably go back to wherever the other victims were forced to perform. He'd need some sort of stage, " his brow furrowed in thought before his gaze snapped up sharply. "The Cascade Theater."

"The what?"

Bruce was already on his feet. "It was abandoned twenty years ago after one of the falcone shootings. It's surrounded by foreclosed and broken down buildings. No one would ever hear or see anything."

"What the hell are we waiting for?" Jason demanded.

"Call the police, Alfred, and tell them there's been a break in. Tell them I'm at a conference in Metropolis and took Jason as my guard," Bruce ordered, tension pouring off of him.

"Yes, sir," Alfred nodded gravely.

Jason rushed after Bruce into the cave, praying that they weren't too late.


	3. Chapter 3

"Calm down."

"I am calm," Jason all but snarled from the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

"Clearly."

"How can _you_ be so calm?" Jason snapped. "You saw that-that _trophy_ room! You saw what that monster is going to do to Dick!"

"Think, Jason," Batman growled. "Elyssa Morgan was forced to dance for days before she escaped. It's likely that the Collector forces them to perform until their bodies give out. And yes, I saw that trophy room. I also saw that Dick had a place of honor. He's obviously…special to him. He won't just kill him."

Jason let out a breath and leaned back in the seat, letting Batman's words roll over him.

"He was only taken a few hours ago," Batman continued. "If we're lucky, he's still unconscious."

"When are we ever lucky?" grumbled Jason. But Batman's words made sense. Dick was still alive, and they would bring him home safely, no doubt about that. But the kid was violently ill, injured, and in the hands of a murdering madman. It was impossible not to be terrified.

"I swear when this is over, we are embedding a tracker in that kid's skull," Jason promised. He looked over to see the corner of Batman's mouth turn up slightly. He also took in the stiff posture, the way Batman leaned forward slightly in his seat, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, he had to be losing feeling in his fingers. Batman was worried too.

Jason took a deep breath and began unloading and reloading his guns to give him something to do with his hands during the torturously long drive to the theater. He was already regretting letting Bruce switch out his bullets with heavy tranquilizers.

* * *

Dick was alone in the darkened dressing room. He could barely stand, his body was shaking so violently. His fever had to be incredibly high, he figured, and his light headedness made him sway.

They had forced him to change into a black and white gymnast suit, which disturbingly fit him perfectly, and had fixed something small and silver onto his neck, just below his ear. His attempts to remove whatever it was were in vain, and left his fingertips raw.

The room spun slightly, and Dick sank into the cold metal chair. He leaned forward, gripping his head in his hands as he fought to get control over his body.

"Anytime now, guys," he muttered, wishing his heart didn't feel like it was about to beat out of his chest. He just wanted to be out of this nightmare and back safe in his bed. There should be a rule about kidnapping when he was sick.

But he shook more from just his illness. The Collector was disturbed and frightening, his obsession with Dick scared him more than he wanted to say.

Someone breathed against his neck.

Dick startled violently, leaping forward off of his chair in a movement that made him even dizzier. He stumbled and leaned against the wall, panting, as the Collector stepped from behind his chair. God, he hadn't even heard the man enter the room.

"You're perfect," the Collector breathed. "I was right to save you."

"Don't do this," Dick said in a last attempt, though he knew it was useless. "I'm in no condition to-"

"That's the beauty of it!" the Collector rushed forward, eyes wide with excitement. Dick pressed himself further against the wall to get away. "It won't matter that you're sick. It won't matter that you haven't done anything like this since you were small. Richard, your body can't forget how to fly, and I have the means to make it happen! You should be thanking me, for doing this for you, for helping you!"

Dick thrust his knee up, slamming it into the man's groin, and shoved him back when the Collector doubled over in pain. He bolted towards the door, stumbling dizzily as he reached for the handle.

"Stop."

There was a sudden snap, a disconnect deep inside of him. Needles stabbed into every surface of his body, burning with their intensity as he suddenly froze in place, hand still outstretched.

"Turn around."

Dick turned instantly, fire spreading over his nerves as he did so. His hand fell to his side.

The Collector stood slowly, his silver watch gleaming in the dim light. "Come here."

As if his body knew exactly what the Collector meant, it turned again and did two flawless back handsprings until he stood at the Collector's side. The pain in his ribs was agony, and made nausea clench his gut, even as the needles sensation pulsed along his skin. But Dick stood straight at attention.

The Collector's hand reached out to cup his face. Dick wanted nothing more than to flinch away, but his body remained still. "You're ready," the madman took a deep breath. "The show's about to start. I must take my seat. I don't want to miss a moment of it. Places, everyone!"

Horrified, yet unable to do a thing to stop himself, Dick followed the Collector out of the dressing room, each step agony. It was dark. Curtains, poles and wires formed a darkened corridor, and Dick could see a sliver of a lighted stage just beyond it. His heart raced.

"This is where I leave you, Richard," the Collector stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. He bent down and whispered in his ear, sending terrified chills down his spine. "Break a leg."

* * *

 **I know, I know, I'm so mean. Not only was this the shortest chapter yet, but I leave you like that! I was going to make this the long chapter, but that mean part of me wanted one more of build up before the big finale. Stay tuned for the most intense chapter yet, and as always, love to know what you think. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

The Cascade Theater looked as if it had been abandoned for a hundred years, instead of twenty. Batman and Red Hood slipped into the foyer. Jason could tell this building used to be one of grandeur and opulence, but to him, it now looked like something from a horror film. If Robin had been standing with them, he undoubtedly would have made some smart ass remark about how it was probably haunted.

As soon as the thought crossed Jason's mind, his ears detected an extremely faint melody, the eerie chords echoing slightly despite the soundproof doors of the theater. He met Batman's gaze, and their eyes narrowed. Batman's hunch had been correct.

Together they eased silently across the dust covered carpet and up the grand staircase. Jason raised his gun, his eyes scanning the darkness as his ears tried to shut out the music _. Freakin creepy ass ghost_ _music_ , he thought as they paused on the landing.

A great set of double doors loomed before them, while two smaller staircases branched out to their left and right, leading to the balcony. Without a word, the two heroes separated, Batman going left, Jason right.

Jason moved swiftly and silently up the stairs, cursing when one creaked ominously under his boots. He froze for a moment, then hearing nothing, continued until he reached the top landing. Steeling himself, he quietly eased open the door, and stepped into the theater.

Instantly the music became louder. The rapidly changing notes and chords spoke of someone with masterful skill, and the eerie melody chosen spoke of someone with dark taste. Jason took a deep breath to steady his nerves and anger, and eased forward in a crouch until his shoulder touched the balcony's edge. He looked over, and then he couldn't breathe.

The stage was brightly lit with pale light, creating a scene that looked entirely black and white. Not only was it set up with trapeze swings, but a maze of bars and poles were placed intricately along the wall of the backdrop, going all the way up to the ceiling. Swinging on the left side of the stage, dressed in a matching black and white costume, was Dick.

Jason watched, transfixed and horrified, as Dick propelled himself forward, letting go of the trapeze and vaulting into the air. His body twisted and spiraled from the momentum, and he easily caught hold of one of the metal bars; he flipped around the bar, faster and faster until he released it, leapt into the air, and caught hold of a higher set of bars, where he bent his body back until he froze in a handstand, his body perfectly vertical.

It was incredible.

It was horrible.

Even from afar, Jason could see that Dick's face was completely blank as he continued performing death defying stunts with no net for a psychopath. That didn't add up. Even if Dick was forced to perform at gunpoint, his face would be alive with emotion; fear, pain, exhaustion. The Morgan girl had been telling the truth. The Collector was somehow controlling them.

Jason's blood boiled as his fists clenched so hard, his knuckles cracked. His heart rate and breathing quickened as Dick swung in circles around one of the bars, then let go and somersaulted twice before seizing another trapeze swing. His body shouldn't have been able to do that; not with how violently sick he was or with those bruised ribs.

A black gauntleted hand gripped his shoulder, but he had sensed Batman coming and didn't flinch. He tore his eyes away from his brother, who performed seemingly effortlessly to the dark music. Batman's eyes were transfixed on his son, and Jason could feel his mentor's hand shaking where it gripped him. Every ounce of the Dark Knight's being screamed for blood, and Jason felt exactly the same.

Batman breathed out slowly through his nose, met Jason's eyes, then looked down towards the theater below. Jason's eyes followed obediently.

To the right of the stage was a grand piano, and even from here, Jason could see the blood stains on the white ivory keys. Seated at the piano was a young girl, her age too hard to determine from that far away. Her back was unnaturally stiff, even as her mangled fingers flew across the keys.

A masked guard stood at attention beside her. Another stood on the other side of the stage, his attention on Dick, who had built his momentum enough to perform one, two three, four somersaults before catching himself and swinging forward on another bar.

Batman's grip tightened painfully on his shoulder, and Jason's eyes fell on a form sitting in the very center of the theater. Hate boiled in his stomach as he stared down at the man behind it all, the Collector. He couldn't make out much of his features, other than he was tall, thin, and had stringy blonde hair. The Collector was literally on the edge of his seat as he watched Dick fly, completely transfixed.

A growl nearly slipped from his lips as Jason readied his gun. He looked back at Batman who held up two fingers and gestured beneath them. Four guards total then. They'd have to take as many out as stealthily and as quickly as they could before taking down the Collector. It was high risk, one wrong move and Dick could fall.

Jason nodded at Batman, and with a last look at the teenager, who performed every trick he knew without hesitation or pause, turned and crept out of the balcony and into the foyer. He made his way quickly to the double doors leading into the ground floor of the theater, knowing Batman was getting into position.

Jason eased open the door and slipped inside, instantly dropping to the floor and rolling behind the back row of seats. He waited, his breath held, for a sign he'd been discovered. Nothing. The music kept playing its disturbing melody. Jason looked, using a seat as cover, to see one of the masked guards standing in the aisle, his attention focused on the stage. Idiot. The Red Hood moved, sliding forward silently as he seized the man from behind. Jason instantly clamped a hand over the man's masked mouth as his other arm squeezed his throat in a choke hold.

The guard's arms clawed at him as Jason eased them both to the ground. Seconds passed, and the man went limp in his arms. Jason glanced across the theater and saw Batman vanish into the shadows. There was no sign of the third guard.

The sound of painful impact made his head turn rapidly toward the stage, where Dick had landed awkwardly on one of the poles. For a terrifying second, it looked as if he would slip, but his body righted itself and he twisted into another handstand, which he held for a moment before flipping to another set of bars.

Jason felt sick. Now that he was closer, he could see that Dick's entire body was shaking violently. The boy was drenched in sweat, and instead of being flushed from the exertion, he was deathly pale. Light caught on something small and silver on his neck.

There was a thud as the guard standing over the captive pianist fell, a batarang glancing off his mask. Shit! He'd missed his mark. Jason cursed and aimed quickly at the other guard, who raised his gun towards the back of the theater.

The Red Hood pulled the trigger, and his tranquilizer hit the guard straight in the neck. The guard didn't even have time to take the dart out before he collapsed.

"ENOUGH!"

The enraged roar made him whirl. The Collector had moved towards the stage and now stood directly in front of it. Jason raised his eyes, and his blood froze. Dick was nowhere to be seen.

Batman had the Collector cornered. Jason fought to control his rising panic. He knew what happened when an animal was cornered, and with Dick suddenly missing…

" _How dare you_?" seethed the Collector, who shook with rage. His eyes were mad and wide, and the ugly scar stood out vividly against the deathly pallor of his skin. He gestured wildly with his arms, making his silver watch gleam in the light. "How _dare_ you interrupt the greatest performance this theater has ever seen?!"

"Release them," Batman demanded in a fierce growl.

"They are mine!" the Collector hissed, slamming his fist into his chest. "I claimed them, I _made_ them! I will not let anyone take my life's work away from me ever again! Not even you, Batman!"

He hadn't noticed Jason, who had remained in the shadows, his eyes searching frantically for his kid brother.

"They were never yours to claim!" Batman almost snarled. "It's over, Silas _! Let. Them. Go."_

The Collector's lips stretched suddenly into a grotesque mockery of a smile. "They're mine, all of them. You can't take them from me, Batman! You might want to take your seat now. You wouldn't want to miss the grand finale!"

Jason jerked his head up. There, at the highest point of the stage where the rafters began, was Dick, who stood on top of a thin rail, his back to the theater, arms outstretched.

"Don't!" warned Batman angrily. "It will be the last thing you ever do!"

Fuck! They had to find a way to release Dick from the Collector's control, and they had to do it now! Jason's eyes zeroed in on the man's silver watch. It had to be what was controlling Dick. He dropped his gun and pulled out one of his knives. Jason took aim, knowing it was a risk, but seeing no other option.

There was a sudden, loud crash and a harsh cacophony of music notes filled the theater as the girl collapsed lifelessly onto the piano. Jason's head turned toward the sound, startled.

Too late, Jason realized his mistake. Time slowed to a torturous crawl as he drew back his arm and threw the knife at the Collector. The blade struck through the madman's wrist, the impact so strong that it continued straight through the watch and pinned his arm to the front of the stage.

At the same moment that Jason had thrown his knife, Dick let himself fall.

"NO!" Jason shouted, his heart in his throat as he moved forward even though he knew he'd never make it in time. His brother continued his rapid descent and made no move to save himself.

A black blur flew across Jason's vision, and he froze as Batman caught the teenager in midair. The Dark Knight had fired his grapple the moment the girl had collapsed and shot into the air just in time. As soon as his boots touched the floor of the stage, Dick lurched away from him, collapsing to his hands and knees and vomiting more violently than Jason had ever seen.

The teenager heaved again and again, even when his stomach was empty. Batman caught him as Dick's shaking arms gave out and refused to hold his body up any longer. Jason could see Dick's face twisted in agony as he fought for breath.

The Collector was screaming, still pinned to the stage and blood pouring in a river down his arm. "NO! No, what have you done!? You've ruined everything! He's mine! MINE!"

Jason's head snapped in his direction, his vision turning completely red. He barreled forward, rearing his arm back and slamming it into the Collector's face with as much force as he could. There was a loud crack as his fist impacted with the man's jaw. The Collector's knees gave out; the only thing holding him up was the knife embedded in the stage.

It wasn't enough. Jason lunged, seizing the murdering psychopath by his throat and wrenching him upright. He squeezed, hard, cutting off the man's airway as he reached with his other hand and twisted the knife. The Collector jerked and seized in his arms, unable to draw enough breath to scream.

"RED HOOD! STOP!" Batman shouted. Jason could barely hear him over the roar in his ears. Why should he stop? This monster had tortured and _killed_ children, and had dared to try and do the same with his little brother. And almost succeeded. The sight of Dick leaping to his death flashed before his eyes over and over again as he choked the life out of the Collector, whose eyes had rolled back into his skull.

Arms seized him from behind and yanked him away with such force that he flew back into the front row of seats. He looked up, dazed from his fury, and watched, stupefied, as Batman checked for a pulse. Finding a faint one, Batman quickly grabbed a roll of bandages from his belt and rapidly tied it around the knife still impaling the man's wrist. If he removed it, the Collector would bleed out.

"Check on Dick," ordered Batman, his voice strained and furious. Jason blinked, and his rage washed away in a wave of ice. He lurched to his feet as Batman carefully pulled the knife from the stage and wrapped the knife and wound more thoroughly as he laid the Collector on the ground. Jason propelled himself onto the stage and slid to his knees next to the teenager lying on his back.

He looked even worse up close. Dick's deathly pale skin was gleaming with sweat, and his breath was way too rapid and shallow. His arms were wrapped around his middle as he fought for breath, his face twisted in a pained grimace.

"Hang in there, Dick," Jason said softly. "We got you. You're safe."

Dick turned his face to look at him, and then his eyes were rolling back. His arms fell lifelessly to his sides.

"Dick!" Jason shouted, lunging forward. He pressed his hands to Dick's neck, and let out a shaky breath at the strong, but too rapid pulse he found. The boy had passed out, his body pushed past the breaking point.

Jason looked up at a strange sound, and saw Batman performing chest compressions on the body of the young girl by the piano. His blood ran cold. He could see her better now, and the girl couldn't be older than thirteen, Dick's age. Her pale skin stretched tightly over her bones, and her hands were a mess of blood and bruises.

Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by Batman's grunts of exertion as he fought to save the dying girl.

A wrenching gasp suddenly tore through the silence, and Jason let out a breath of relief as the girl started to breathe. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto Batman's face.

"It's alright," he said in a soft, steady voice. "It's over."

She stared up at him, and then her face crumpled as she began to sob violently, clinging to Batman's cape with her mangled hands.

Jason tore his eyes away from her, unable to bear the sight any longer. His heart still raced, unable to let go of the fear that gripped him the moment Dick had fallen. His eyes locked onto the unconscious form of the Collector, sprawled on the ground in front of the stage, his bandages already soaked with blood.

He carefully lifted his unconscious brother into his arms. Every inch of Jason still screamed for blood, and he wished that Batman hadn't stopped him from killing the Collector.

* * *

 **I hope it's lived up to your expectations. It was difficult to write, and I found myself tensing up and hunching over while I wrote it. As always, reviews are what inspire me to keep writing, and don't worry, the story is not over yet!**


	5. Chapter 5

Jason entered Dick's room, his eyes going straight to the sleeping teenager on the bed. Dick still looked awful; a thin sheen of sweat had erupted on his pale skin, and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent than ever.

"Has he woken up yet?" Jason asked.

Bruce, sitting on a chair beside the bed, replied. "Not yet. The doctors said it could be awhile. His body was pushed too hard in the condition he was in. Rest is the best thing for him right now."

Jason took in his mentor's stiff posture, the tightness of his jaw.

"You're angry," he noted.

"Yes," Bruce's voice was flat as he turned his stony gaze to Jason. "I am."

Jason rolled his eyes and glared. "Look, I'm not going to apologize for what I did. That sick bastard had it coming, and to be perfectly honest? I wish you would have let me finish him off."

Bruce rose from his chair, seized Jason's arm, and pulled him bodily from the room. As soon as they were in the hall and Dick's door was shut, Jason jerked away.

"I thought we were past this," Bruce said angrily. "I thought we were past your need to kill."

"My _need_? Are you serious, right now?! This has nothing to do with my instincts or urges for violence, Bruce! It has everything to do with what that murdering psychopath did to _children_ , and what he tried to do to Dick! How can you not be angry? How can you care about whether that scum lives or dies?!" Jason spat.

"I care about _you_ , Jason, and of course I'm angry!" Bruce shot back heatedly. "I could have lost my son. I almost did. And what that monster put Dick through…it makes me so furious I can't even think. But I care too much about Dick to do what you tried to do."

"That sick freak deserves to die!" Jason threw his hands up in frustration.

"What about Jessica?" Bruce asked, his expression dark. "Did she deserve to die?"

That threw him. "Who?"

"Jessica Santos, the twelve year old pianist whose heart had given out while you were busy choking the life out of the Collector?" Bruce growled. "I lost precious seconds preventing you from committing _murder_ , and I was almost too late to save her."

"I-"

"And what about Dick, Jason?" Bruce continued. "Did you realize that he was still conscious, that he saw what you were doing? That I had to leave my scared and injured son so that he wouldn't watch his own brother kill someone?"

Jason was stunned. He felt sick, the weight of his actions crashing over him in a heavy avalanche. His expression must have reflected how he felt, because Bruce's face softened.

"And what about yourself, Jason? Do you really want to go back down that road?"

Jason sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face. "No, I don't. But Bruce, that monster is still alive, and shoving him into Arkham Asylum isn't the answer either. You know just as well as I do that that kind of obsession doesn't die, it festers, and when has anyone we put in there actually stayed in? As long as that man is alive, Dick is in danger."

"That's why he isn't in Arkham Asylum."

"Wait, what?"

"I had him transferred immediately to one of the secure Justice League holding cells to await his trial. There's enough evidence stacked up against him to put him away for life in one of the world's most secure prisons, or worse," Bruce replied. "That psychopath is never getting near Dick again."

Jason sighed again and leaned against the wall. He suddenly felt exhausted and ashamed. God, what must have Dick thought when he saw what Jason was doing? What must he think of his "big brother" now?

"I really fucked up," Jason said, his eyes closed. "I'm…I'm sorry."

"I thought you said you weren't going to apologize," Bruce gave a small smirk, then sighed. "Look, I'd be lying if I told you that part of me didn't want you to do what you did, Jason. I wanted that man to suffer too, just not at the expense of you. You'll have to talk to Dick, once he wakes up. He'll understand, once you've explained what happened, and that you'll _never_ do anything like that again," he finished sternly.

"The girl," Jason said suddenly, looking up at his mentor. "Jessica, is she-?"

"The doctors expect her to make a full recovery," Bruce reassured him. "Though I can't say whether or not she will ever go near a piano again."

Jason's face darkened. "I've seen so much, Bruce. And yet it still surprises me how _evil_ people can be and the horrible things they are capable of."

"It's something you never get used to," Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder and looked towards Dick's room. "But there's always light in the darkness, if you know where to look."

Jason grinned. "Has Dick got you watching Harry Potter again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't, Dumbledore. You mind if I take the next watch?"

"Go ahead. Be sure to get me or Alfred when he wakes up," Bruce patted his arm and headed down the hall.

Jason went back into Dick's room and sat down next to the boy's bed. He leaned back in the chair as he examined Dick's sleeping face and tried to think of what he was going to say to him once he woke up.

* * *

Needles stabbed into every surface of his skin as fire erupted in his ribs. Dick couldn't breathe, couldn't take in a single breath, yet still he kept performing.

"The show must go on," someone whispered in his ear, but that was impossible as he was completely airborne.

Sweat rolled down his back and face, burning his eyes, and his stomach was cramping violently, but it was as if the pain was all in his mind, because his body took no notice. He just kept reaching for the next set of bars, kept swinging, kept flipping, kept soaring through the air.

 _God, why wouldn't it end_? He just needed to _breathe_!

And then suddenly he was standing on a platform, hundreds of miles in the air. The wind crashed violently against him, threatening to send him flying off to his death. Dick's heart raced as he stared at the ground below him. He heard screaming and the sound of two wet, broken crashes.

Icy arms encircled him and pulled him against a body. " _My_ Richard," the Collector purred in his ear, his rancid breath making Dick choke and want to pull away. But his body refused to obey him. "Are you ready for the big finale?"

 _No_! Dick screamed mentally. _Please, don't make me do this_! His lips remained clamped shut. _Someone please help me!_

The Collector released him, and he obediently stepped forward onto the very edge of the platform.

Dick's arms rose against his will, and he looked in horror at the strings hooked into his skin at all of his joints. His eyes followed the crimson strands up, seeing them connected above his head by a wooden cross, held by the massive hand of the Collector.

"Fly, Robin, fly!" the madman cried triumphantly and cut the strings. Dick's body crumpled lifelessly and tipped forward off of the platform. He fell, faster and faster, eyes streaming, mentally screaming as his body betrayed him. The ground got closer and closer and oh _God_ , he was going to die just like his parents, and he never got to say goodbye to Bruce or Jason or Alfred or his friends.

Time sped up instead of slowing down as Dick crashed into the ground.

* * *

Jason shot to his feet, heart in his throat, as Dick woke, desperately gasping for air. The boy was panicking, unable to catch his breath; his eyes were wide, his hands scrabbled at his throat as his body thrashed beneath the sheets.

"Dick! Dick, it's alright!" Jason lunged forward, untangling the sheets away from the petrified teenager, and grabbing his wrists so he wouldn't hurt himself. "Breathe, Dick!"

Dick's huge, panicked eyes met his as he shook violently. "I-I – he had me and I f-fell- _I jumped_! I d-died just like them!" he spoke between short gasps of air.

Jason's heart shattered. "Hey, listen to me. Dick, eyes on me! I got you, alright? Look where you are. You're safe in your room at home. Bruce caught you, remember?"

Dick looked around him, breathing rapidly and trembling, but Jason felt relieved to see recognition in his eyes as panic began to seep away. "I…yeah," the teenager said, looking dazed. "I-I think I'm gonna throw up."

Jason released his wrists and seized the waste basket by his bed just as Dick rolled over and began to heave. Nothing remained in his stomach, and Jason rubbed the teen's back as he dry heaved, arms clamped around his ribs.

"S-shit," the teenager wheezed, then cracked open his eyes to glare up at Jason. "Don't t-tell Alfred I said that."

Jason smiled, relieved that Dick was already joking. "You're kidding, right? After the last time, you bet your butt I'm going to tell Alfred about your 'language whilst on the field'."

"I'm not _on_ the field," Dick argued as Jason helped him sit back up with a wince. "I'm –ugh- on my sick bed. That means I get a free pass."

"You can tell that to Alfred," Jason said, propping up the pillows behind him so Dick could sit upright. Dick closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "You ok?"

"Yeah," Dick said without opening his eyes. "Can I get some water?"

Jason reached over to the dresser, where Alfred had already placed a glass and jug of ice water for when Dick woke up. He quickly poured a glass and handed it to him. "Slow sips at first, ok?" he cautioned.

Dick sipped at the ice water, sighing in relief. "Thanks."

Jason watched as the teenager rubbed his neck with his free hand, wincing. Dick stiffened as his fingers brushed over a bandage beneath his ear.

"The doctors had a hard time removing it," Jason answered the question in Dick's eyes. "It was seared to your skin. Bruce is analyzing it down in the cave to figure out how it was controlling you."

"And who the Collector got it from?" Dick's expression darkened. "He mentioned he had help from a friend."

"Then we'll find him too and put him away for good," Jason said firmly, his jaw tensing. "You won't have to worry about the Collector coming after you again, Dick, I promise."

Dick's eyes suddenly widened slightly before they darted away. "So he's-?"

Jason frowned until the realization of what he had just said hit him.

"Oh. Oh! No Dick, he's not-I mean, I didn't kill him," Jason stumbled over his words, suddenly feeling nervous and unsure of himself. "He's alive and locked up where he can never hurt anyone else."

"Oh. That's-that's good."

Jason sighed. Well, here goes nothing, he thought, praying that Dick didn't see him differently. "Dick, I'm sorry. What you saw back there at the theater—I lost control. When that monster hurt you, when he made you jump, it scared the hell out of me. For a moment, I thought… and I just-"

The words were just tumbling out of his mouth like vomit. Jason wanted to groan and hide his face in his hands.

"Jason, it's okay."

"No, it isn't. I shouldn't have done that, no matter how badly I wanted to, no matter how much that psychopath deserved it and worse. I messed up."

"I'll be honest, Jay, it did scare me, seeing you like that," Dick admitted. "But I get it, really. If he'd done the same to you or, or Wally… I'm not sure how I would have reacted. Mostly I was just worried for you."

Jason laughed without humor. "You shouldn't have had to worry about me, kid. You had enough going on yourself. Look, the point is, I'm sorry, and I'm not going to lose control like that again, ok?"

Dick nodded. "As long as you're ok."

Of course the kid was more worried about his wellbeing than the fact that he almost killed someone.

Dick's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait, there was a girl—"

"She's going to be ok," Jason said quickly, wincing at the bolt of shame that shot through him at the thought of her almost fate. "She's in the hospital; the doctors think she'll be just fine."

"Good," Dick relaxed as much as he could against his pillows. "That's good."

"I thought I told you to come get me as soon as he woke up?"

Jason turned as Bruce entered the room, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an explanation. "Er, he did just wake up. Like two seconds ago, right Dick?"

He turned towards the teenager, giving him the "you better just go with it or I'll tell Alfred you cursed and won't feel sorry about it" look. Dick raised an eyebrow, returning with the "do I look stupid to you?" look of his own.

"Yeah, Jason just got me some water before you came in," Dick said, making his voice sound slightly hoarse from sleep.

Jason rose from the chair so Bruce could take his spot, and instead leaned against the dresser. Bruce sat down and placed a hand on Dick's forehead. "Your fever broke. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty crappy," Dick admitted. "Everything hurts."

"We should be able to get some medicine in you soon, but we need to see if you can keep some food down first. Alfred's making you soup right now," Bruce said.

Dick paled slightly at the mention of food. "Did you find anything about the control device yet?"

"I'm still running diagnostics, but I have my suspicions," Bruce replied, his eyes narrowing at the thought.

"Mad Hatter?" Dick guessed.

Bruce's surprise turned into proud approval. "It would fit. The design does seem like Jervis Tetch's influence, but I can't be sure until the computer finishes analyzing it."

"And he did escape from Arkham around the same time the kidnappings started," Dick realized. His face suddenly turned grim. "Did…did you find the others?"

The room felt as if it suddenly dropped ten degrees as flashes of that trophy room flashed in Jason's mind's eye. One glance at Bruce's face told him that the man was thinking about it too.

"We did," Bruce said finally. "They didn't make it."

Dick nodded, his jaw tense. "I figured," he shuddered. "God, all those people. It must have been so horrible for them, not understanding what was going on, being forced to perform for him until they just…"

Bruce gripped his shoulder reassuringly. "I know, Dick. I know. The Collector is finished. He'll be put away for the rest of his life for his crimes, and what happened to you won't happen ever again."

"Pardon the interruption," Alfred cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway, carrying a tray laden with a bowl of soup. "Master Dick, it's wonderful to see you awake. I have prepared some soup for you, if you're up for it."

Dick eyed the soup and turned slightly green, but he nodded. "Thank you, Alfred."

The butler placed the tray on Dick's lap and handed him the spoon. "If you can keep this down, we shall get you some of that pain medication you are so fond of," Alfred said with an affectionate smile.

Dick grinned. "Sounds good to me."

"Very well, I shall leave you to it," Alfred rose and exited the room.

"Hey, Alfred, wait up a moment," Jason called after him and turned back to give Dick a devilish grin and a cheeky wave.

"You wouldn't-!" Dick started, eyes wide with betrayal. Jason saluted him with two of his fingers before disappearing into the hallway after the butler.

"Alfred, you wouldn't believe what I just caught Dick saying."

* * *

 **I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to leave me those absolutely lovely reviews, and I hope you guys enjoyed this story! :) I also just started another one, called Night of the Bat, that will be a much lighter but still action packed story for you guys!**


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